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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28030614">safe haven</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fonulyn/pseuds/fonulyn'>fonulyn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5+1 Things, Everyone Gets A Hug, Everyone Needs A Hug, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hugs, Joe gives great hugs, M/M, Mentions of canon-typical violence, but some of them are comforting hugs so, it's literally just hugs, say thank you Joe, some angst sprinkled in, there is one scene in which death is mentioned</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:16:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,884</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28030614</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fonulyn/pseuds/fonulyn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Whether Joe really is more awake than he lets on, or if he just has learned to sense Nicky’s presence even in sleep by now, Nicky doesn’t know. But Joe immediately shifts onto his side, giving Nicky enough space to slip back into bed and into the circle of his arms. Carefully Nicky tugs the covers over them both, mindful of the way Joe shivers as he presses close and leeches all the warmth from him. </p><p>Shamelessly Nicky tangles their legs, buries his nose into Joe’s neck, and relaxes like he never relaxes anywhere else. Joe’s arm finds its way around him, his other hand coming to rest in the back of Nicky’s head, thumb brushing through the short hairs there. “I missed you,” Joe mumbles, more asleep than awake, his words so slurred that probably only Nicky can make any sense of them. </p><p>-<br/>Or the one wherein everyone gets quality cuddles from Joe.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani &amp; Everyone, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>376</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>safe haven</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>inspired by <a href="https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1468.html?thread=337852#cmt337852">this prompt</a> although it... isn't exactly what was prompted. but close enough! :'D</p><p>i've been dying to write something with actual substance but lately my brain says 'no' so I figured plotless fluff with some quality hugs would be the way to go. if you're familiar with that "shitty pots" post on tumblr, then this is me making shitty pots. and indulging in the soft fluff that I crave, haha.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>1.</p><p>The night is warm, the gentle breeze pushing Nicolo’s hair off his face as he pokes at the last remains of their campfire. He hears Yusuf’s light footsteps and the way he’s humming under his breath, and he smiles despite himself. They haven’t been enemies for decades anymore, their tentative friendship morphing into something more solid every day, and he’s done pretending like he doesn’t hold nothing but affection for his companion by now. </p><p>“You ready for the night?” Yusuf asks as soon as he’s standing only a few steps behind Nicolo, and there’s a rustle of fabric as he rearranges their bedrolls again. It makes Nicolo huff out amusedly. Once upon a time he would’ve argued, would’ve insisted that there’s nothing wrong with how he already did it, even if only to have something to argue over. </p><p>Nicolo turns around, his treacherous heart skipping in his chest as he sees how much closer together Yusuf has shifted their beds. “Yes,” he says, not trusting his voice for anything more than that. How could he, when he’s faced with such an open smile, such earnest and genuine look in the most expressive eyes he’s ever seen in his life.</p><p>Neither of them speaks as they settle down, close but not touching, and Nicolo already begins to relax, his eyelids growing heavy. Until suddenly there’s an arm thrown over his waist and he’s pulled close against a warm body, Yusuf’s beard tickling the nape of his neck as he presses his face close. </p><p>They have huddled close together for warmth before, multiple times. Even the exact position they’re in isn’t new in any way, Nicolo has had his back pressed against Yusuf’s chest numerous times before, has had his arms around him, making him hope it wasn’t only the coldness surrounding them that prompted the closeness. Countless times he’s tried to make the swarm of butterflies in his stomach calm down, has tried to tell himself that he’s hoping for too much.</p><p>Careful not to jostle Yusuf, not to push him away, Nicolo cranes his neck and turns his head, trying to catch a glimpse of him. “Are you cold?” he asks, silent, as if speaking too loudly might break the spell that has been cast over them. His throat feels parched, every word scratching it raw, and he practically holds his breath as he waits for a reply. </p><p>“No,” Yusuf answers easily. If anything, he pulls Nicolo even closer, buries his face in the crook of Nicolo’s neck. “There is nothing but warmth in my heart,” he says after a while, and Nicolo is certain he’s quoting something, it sounds exactly like the long poems Yusuf is so fond of reciting by the campfire.</p><p>Nicolo’s heart beats so wildly he’s certain Yusuf can feel it, can probably even hear it, but he doesn’t say anything. He allows himself to relax, sinks back into the embrace and closes his eyes, if only to focus better on the closeness. </p><p>In a fit of bravery, Nicolo brings his hand atop Yusuf’s on his chest, lacing their fingers together.</p><p>Yusuf holds him tighter.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>2. </p><p>“Move over.” </p><p>It takes Yusuf a second to register that someone is talking to him, and when he does he still has to blink his eyes open and squint up at whoever it is that’s <i>kicking </i>him awake. Gently kicking, sure, but kicking nonetheless, which really only leaves one possible option. “What,” he says, intelligently, so flat it isn’t even a question. Quynh keeps nudging him until he rolls over onto his back, and immediately she uses the opportunity presented for her to crawl half on top of him.</p><p>The bed would be big enough for them to be lying side by side, but despite that she decides to use him as a mattress, clinging onto him as if she thinks he’s going to kick her out of bed. With a sigh, Yusuf brings his arms around her, buries his fingers into the long strands of hair in the back of her neck, and tries again. “What?”</p><p>“I had a nightmare,” Quynh admits, at length. She sounds uncharacteristically small, like a shadow of herself, the way she rarely does. They all go through moments like this, times when they stumble and need someone to catch them. And Yusuf is more than willing to do that for her. Patiently he waits, and surely enough, she does go on. “Do you think they’ll be back soon?”</p><p>There’s no real answer to that, not really. Yusuf’s own heart constricts in his chest as he thinks of how Andromache and Nicolo were due back already days ago, but there has been no sign of them. He trusts them, knows they’re likely only delayed, but he can not help the worry that’s swirling in his gut. The same worry he knows Quynh is trying her hardest to hide. </p><p>“I tell you,” he says, in the most convincing tone he can muster, smiling as lightly as he can, “when we wake up in the morning, they will be here.”</p><p>Quynh hums. She grabs a fistful of Yusuf’s shirt in her fingers, burrows even closer against him, as if she’s trying to leech off all the strength he can spare. “Do you promise?” she asks, and finally there’s a note of amusement in her tone. There’s no way either one of them can make such promises but it has become something like a game between the two of them in the past century. She asks him to promise her the most outlandish things, the moon from the sky or that the sky will rain wine on them, and he always promises her, delighted by the joy dancing in her eyes. </p><p>“I promise,” Yusuf says, patting her shoulder. </p><p>Within moments she is already asleep, and Yusuf isn’t far behind. </p><p>The next time Yusuf wakes up it isn’t to someone kicking him. It is to Quynh still drooling onto his shoulder, clinging onto him while she’s out cold half on top of him. He blinks once, twice, relief flooding his chest as he spots Andromache curled up in the large chair only two steps from the foot of the bed. Joy is already building in his heart as he tilts his head, and it threatens to spill over the second his eyes meet the ones he’d spend an eternity gazing into.</p><p>“Hello,” Nicolo whispers. He’s sitting beside the bed on the floor, in a position that doesn’t look entirely comfortable, but all he does is tilt his head and press his forehead against Yusuf’s. Immediately something in Yusuf’s chest slots back into place, as if his world aligns properly for the first time in weeks.</p><p>Yusuf closes his eyes and breathes in deep. “Hello.” </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>3. </p><p>Snow isn’t Booker’s element. Ever since he died for the first time he’s hated snow, hated being cold, and when he first found out where his new companions come from he expected them to agree. Finding out about Yusuf’s unbridled joy whenever he sees snow was annoying enough, but to realize Nicolo is like an overly enthusiastic child about it too, Booker feels he’s been ganged up on, as ridiculous as he knows it is. </p><p>He’s huddled as close to the fireplace as he can, hands outstretched even though it’s almost too hot, and he has to fight back a scowl as Yusuf stomps inside and brings a mountain of snow with him. “Close the door, would you,” he says, letting his annoyance be heard. “It’s barely warm by now, you don’t need to let all of the snow in.”</p><p>Yusuf definitely notices the clipped tone but he doesn’t care, or at least doesn’t show it if he does, as he only kicks off his shoes and brings the armful of firewood closer to the fireplace. “The storm is picking up,” he says mildly, shrugging off his coat to hang it on one of the hooks by the door. The cabin they’re holed up in is small, only one room, a rickety bed and the fireplace, not much else. Thankfully they’re not supposed to be there for long, only until Andromache and Nicolo catch up with them and they can regroup. </p><p>Even then, every single day here in this godforsaken land of ice and snow is <i>way too fucking long </i>as far as Booker is concerned. He only grunts in response, ignoring whatever Yusuf is saying to him in an attempt to make conversation. He’s too tired for this, too cold for this, and he hasn’t gotten a drink in way too long now. </p><p>At some point during the evening Yusuf realizes Booker isn’t going to respond to him, or maybe he just decides to switch tactics and instead of trying to lift the mood with chatter he lets silence envelope them. </p><p>Somehow that makes Booker feel even worse. He knows this is hard on Yusuf, too. He might enjoy the winter and cold, but he’s been separated from Nicolo for days now and although he hasn’t complained with one single word Booker can see the tired lines of his face, the way his smile doesn’t always quite reach his eyes as if he’s too lost in thought for it. </p><p>They’re both wrapped up in a blanket of their own, huddled close together in the single bed in the cabin, when Booker relents. “I’m sorry,” he tells the ceiling, biting his lower lip harshly as he waits for a response. As one doesn’t follow, he draws in a breath, soldiering on. “You know cold makes me miserable. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”</p><p>As an answer, Yusuf shifts a little closer. Unceremoniously he throws an arm over Booker, pulls him closer against himself, and presses his face against Booker’s shoulder. </p><p>Instantaneously Booker tenses. He hasn’t been held like this in decades, if ever, and he doesn’t know what to make of it. He knows Yusuf is a tactile person, knows he hugs and touches freely, but he doesn’t know how to be on the receiving end of that kind of a friendship. It’s awkward, with him so tense and Yusuf still stubbornly holding on to him, and Booker’s mind races as he tries to figure out a way out of this. </p><p>At the same time he doesn’t <i>want </i>a way out. He almost feels like crying, so unused of such casual intimacy and yet craving it like nothing else. He’s afraid to even breathe too deep, what if it makes Yusuf move away or let go of him and… With another deep breath, he ventures, “you don’t need to—”</p><p>“Shut up,” Joe says, firmly but kindly, “I’m sleepy.” He tightens his hold a little, and despite himself Booker practically melts into the embrace. “You’re sleepy. Relax.”</p><p>It shouldn’t work, not that easily. Yet Booker nods, closes his eyes, and miraculously he feels the tension bleed off him. </p><p>For the first time in a decade, he sleeps dreamlessly. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>4. </p><p>If she’s honest with herself, Nile isn’t particularly good at remembering dates. She makes an effort with the important ones, birthdays and anniversaries and whatnot, but it doesn’t come easily for her like it does to some of her friends. A few years after her first death, she gets even worse at remembering dates because the people she’s with no longer even remember their own birthdays, much less track any specific anniversaries. </p><p>Yet there’s one date that Nile’s mind apparently refuses to forget. Every year, without fail, she starts to get melancholy and introspective, dwells in her own thoughts for a few days before she realizes what time it is. It’s always on time for the anniversary of her father’s death, and she doesn’t know how to shake it. She doesn’t know if she <i>wants to </i>shake it, it feels like the last connection she has to him and she clings onto it no matter how it makes her feel.</p><p>Joe is the one who finds her standing next to the couch in the living room, staring at the TV that isn’t even on. She made tea, some herbal mix that Nicky swears by, but the mug sits forgotten on the table, cold and unappealing. </p><p>It only takes Joe one glance at the scene to know what’s going on and he steps closer, gingerly takes a seat on the couch. “Want to talk about it?” he asks, infinitely gentle, and the way he smiles at her makes something in her chest ache. </p><p>At first Nile wants to say no, but there’s something so open about Joe’s expression that she swallows it down. “I just,” she whispers, coughs to clear her throat, and goes on more clearly, even if she feels like the words are so fragile they might break if she just breathes too hard, “sometimes my mom would… Look, I know I’m a grown adult, and she knew that too. But sometimes she’d hold me close and sing to me, tell me stories, and… You know. On the bad days.”</p><p>“And today is a bad day?” Joe asks, although he already knows the answer. </p><p>“Yeah,” she admits. </p><p>Joe smiles, a soft, gentle thing. Then he’s settling down on the couch, making himself really comfortable. It’s a little bit odd, as if he’s done with the conversation, and Nile frowns slightly. She doesn’t have the time to comment on it though, not before Joe is already raising his arms, beckoning her closer. “Come.”</p><p>“What are you—” she asks, doesn’t get any further, as Joe only shushes her. “Don’t shush me,” she snaps, but it lacks heat, and despite the words she’s already moving closer. Carefully she climbs over Joe and settles down in the space Joe has made for her between the backrest and him, and it takes a bit of shuffling before they’re both comfortable.</p><p>When they figure it out, it’s like a small slice of <i>heaven</i>, Nile swears. Joe is warm and solid right next to her, and as she relaxes and rests her head on his shoulder he brings an arm around her, rubs comforting circles on her back with his large palm. There’s smile in his voice as he mutters, “I’m afraid I’m not much of a singer. Some day, you should ask Nicky to sing you to sleep.”</p><p>“Does he do that for you?” Nile asks, already relaxing. </p><p>“Sometimes,” Joe says with a soft hum, “sometimes.” He pauses for a moment then, his hand never stopping, and in the silence Nile counts his heartbeats and lets the steady rise and fall of his chest lull her even closer to sleep. He seems to notice, as when he speaks it’s silent, as if not to disturb her. “I can tell you a story, though.”</p><p>Nile smiles into his shirt. “Yes please.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>5. </p><p>Biting back a groan, Joe slips into the back alley, making sure that no one is following him as he limps towards the rendezvous point. They were forced to part ways and take separate routes, but despite the entire mission going straight to hell, Joe is fairly confident that their getaway was clean enough. His ribs are still knitting back together, the sickly snap of bone making him shudder. Even after all of these centuries he isn’t used to it, can never get used to the ends of his own bones scraping together as they realign. </p><p>At the end of the alley Joe pauses, stops for a moment and presses himself close against the wall. He listens intently, for what feels like the twentieth time, but there’s still no sign of anyone following him and he allows himself to relax minutely. </p><p>As quickly as he can, Joe makes his way to the rendezvous point, a small and dinky apartment that Booker rented from who knows where for the month. Not that they even need it for more than hours, but the location suits their purposes, so who is he to complain. It’s in the sixth floor, and Joe takes the stairs two at once even though it makes his freshly healed wounds ache. </p><p>Only Andy is waiting for him as he steps into the apartment, bare of furniture except for a wooden kitchen table and two chairs next to it. He isn’t worried: Booker has to ditch the car it’ll take him longer to trek back here, and Nicky is meticulous enough to take a longer route than ever strictly necessary, just to be certain. </p><p>What does take him by surprise is the look on Andy’s face. She’s staring straight through him, eyes vacant, and instinctively Joe stops in his tracks as soon as the door has softly thudded shut behind him. There’s something odd in the air, even before he realizes what it is: she is crying.</p><p>“Oh, Andy,” Joe says in one soft exhale and crosses the room in three long steps to wrap his arms around her. </p><p>It’s like some invisible force that was holding her up gives in at that exact second. She slumps down so suddenly Joe nearly loses his footing, too, and all he can do is scramble so he can lower them both onto the floor. Somehow he manages to sit so he can lean his back against the wall, and gathers her in his arms as she sobs against his shirt. She’s sitting perpendicular to him, her legs over his thighs, hugging her arms around herself as she leans heavily against him. </p><p>Joe doesn’t even remember when he last saw Andy cry. His heart is breaking for her, the heaviness of unshed tears in his own eyes, but he keeps speaking to her softly, keeps her close and lets her have the time she needs. </p><p>They did lose everyone they tried to save, today. Despite what they thought was a solid plan, everything went to shit, and the sole survivor they’d located died in Andy’s arms. Joe scolds himself for not realizing then that it took such a toll on Andy, was the last straw that made her carefully maintained composure crack. He should’ve seen how close to the breaking point she was. He should’ve—</p><p>Joe’s self-reproach is interrupted when the door opens. Nicky hesitates at the door, looks at Joe from huge, questioning eyes, and slowly Joe nods. That’s all the signal Nicky needs to approach them, and he settles carefully on the floor on the other side of Andy, close enough to offer the comfort of his presence. Maybe that helps, or maybe Andy is running out of tears anyway, but she does relax slightly, her shoulders slumping. </p><p>“I can’t do this anymore,” she says, barely audible. </p><p>“Andy,” Nicky begins, endlessly gentle, but he doesn’t get any further than that before she interrupts him. </p><p>“I can’t,” she repeats, “I can’t, I can’t. I need …a break.” She hesitates as she says it, as if she isn’t certain if even a break will ever be enough. But even as distraught as she is, she can’t stop being rational, can’t stop taking everyone else into consideration. “I’m not <i>abandoning </i>you. I’ll come back.” Even when weak from crying, there’s ferocity in her voice, steely determination. </p><p>“We know,” Nicky says, for the both of them. Joe pulls Andy even closer. </p><p>Willingly, she rests against his chest. “It’ll just be a break.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>+1. </p><p>Early mornings have always been Nicky’s thing. He enjoys getting up before dawn, before the rest of the world stirs. Walking the empty streets, moving around the kitchen with no one else there, watching and listening to the world come to life around him, it almost feels like time stops in moments like those. There’s the sort of fragility in the early morning hours that doesn’t exist anywhere else, and sometimes he slips out of bed just to experience that.</p><p>The best part about mornings is going back to bed, though. </p><p>They have no plans to go anywhere so Joe is still fast asleep, face half-buried into the pillow, sprawled onto the mattress so that he takes up practically all of the space alone. Nicky pauses in the doorway, if only to watch Joe for a moment, to take in the way his skin is painted almost golden by the rising sun. Nicky’s heart feels overflowing with emotion, and he grips the coffee mug in his hands tighter. </p><p>Unable to resist, he moves closer, sets the mug down onto the table and places one knee on the mattress. Whether Joe really is more awake than he lets on, or if he just has learned to sense Nicky’s presence even in sleep by now, Nicky doesn’t know. But Joe immediately shifts onto his side, giving Nicky enough space to slip back into bed and into the circle of his arms. Carefully Nicky tugs the covers over them both, mindful of the way Joe shivers as he presses close and leeches all the warmth from him. </p><p>Shamelessly Nicky tangles their legs, buries his nose into Joe’s neck, and relaxes like he never relaxes anywhere else. Joe’s arm finds its way around him, his other hand coming to rest in the back of Nicky’s head, thumb brushing through the short hairs there. “I missed you,” Joe mumbles, more asleep than awake, his words so slurred that probably only Nicky can make any sense of them. </p><p>“You were asleep,” Nicky answers, amusement in his voice. He pushes a hand under Joe’s loose sweatpants, rests his palm over his hip, even as it makes Joe shiver and pull a face. He doesn’t move, though, but allows Nicky to warm his fingers as he pleases. </p><p>“It does not matter,” Joe says, already more coherent than before. “My soul misses yours the second you step through the door. My heart knows you’re not with me even when my mind isn’t aware of it.” He opens his eyes and shifts just enough so he can look straight at Nicky. “My arms are empty without you in them, and my world doesn’t turn until you return to me.”</p><p>Nicky soaks in the warmth of the moment, not only the actual physical warmth but also the affectionate sparkle in Joe’s eyes, the soft tilt of his smile, the way he holds him close as if he is the only thing in this moment that matters. “How long have you been practicing this one?” he asks, even as he already hides every single word in his heart, keeps them safe where no one else can take them from him. </p><p>“I am hurt,” Joe says, even if there’s nothing but amusement and affection in his tone. “I pour my heart out for you, and you accuse me of cheating.” He holds Nicky’s gaze, as if he’s waiting for him to say something, but before Nicky has the chance to even open his mouth Joe laughs throatily. “Depends on how you look at it. I’ve been telling you the same thing for centuries, in slightly different ways.”</p><p>Nicky breaks the eye contact, but only so he can press his nose in the crook of Joe’s neck, so he can shift as close to him as he possibly can. If there is a heaven on earth, this is his, no doubt. He presses a kiss in the hollow of Joe’s throat, humming softly. “I will always return to you.”</p><p>Joe holds him a little closer.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>also <a href="https://fonulyn.tumblr.com/post/637319102189486080/safe-haven-joenicky-joe-everyone-the-old">on tumblr</a> :3 come say hi if you want!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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